


What Birds Have Vanished

by hilaryfaye



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he had always been what he was, then why did he dream of a woman and girl he didn’t remember? No, these were more than dreams. Sandman knew memories when he saw them. Tooth would have known them for what they were, too, but she wouldn’t come within a mile of Pitch if she didn’t have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Birds Have Vanished

> What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,   
> I have forgotten, and what arms have lain   
> Under my head till morning; but the rain   
> Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh   
> Upon the glass and listen for reply,   
> And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain   
> For unremembered lads that not again   
> Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.   
> Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,   
> Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,   
> Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:   
> I cannot say what loves have come and gone,   
> I only know that summer sang in me   
> A little while, that in me sings no more.
> 
> \- Edna St. Vincent Millay (Sonnet XLIII)

When Pitch slept, it was fitfully. He tossed and turned and sometimes he spoke. “No. Not her.”

His nightmares and dreams were at best half-remembered, but Sandy heard enough pieces to begin to piece it together—that the ‘her’ he sometimes spoke about wasn’t always the same person. Sometimes it was a grown woman, a wife, Sandy thought. Sometimes it was a little girl. A daughter. Pitch never said anything about them in his waking hours, and Sandy stopped asking when Pitch began to grow furious at the mention of them. 

Sandy believed Pitch when he said he didn’t know who they were, or why he dreamed about them. Like Jack had, Pitch remembered nothing from before he was Pitch Black. He claimed he had always been this, but Sandy wouldn’t believe that.

If he had always been what he was, then why did he dream of a woman and girl he didn’t remember? No, these were more than dreams. Sandman knew memories when he saw them. Tooth would have known them for what they were, too, but she wouldn’t come within a mile of Pitch if she didn’t have to.

So Sandy rubbed Pitch’s back while he slept and watched the dreams play out, wondering about the woman and the girl.

The Guardians didn’t need as much sleep as the others. They had the benefit of belief  fueling them, but Pitch didn’t have that, and he slept nearly as much as the people he frightened. 

Sandy’s little hands ran over the expanse that was Pitch’s back, tracing every faded scar and mark. There were too many scars that Pitch couldn’t account for to let Sandy believe that Pitch had always been what he was now.

He had been someone else before, just as they all were. He just didn’t remember… or he had convinced himself he couldn’t.

Sandy kissed a scar on the back of Pitch’s shoulder, running his hand over it as if that might reveal it’s cause. Pitch stirred—it had been a quiet night, only one nightmare and not as strong as they usually were. He rolled onto his back, exposing all the scars that crisscrossed his chest and stomach. Sandy had spent several nights tracing those as well. Now he kissed them one by one until Pitch woke, tussling his long fingers through Sandy’s hair. “Evening, Little Man.”

Sandy kissed another scar and looked at Pitch curiously. Pitch sighed and rubbed his face. “No, I don’t remember them, just like I don’t remember them any other night.”

Sandy began kissing scars again to distract Pitch. There was one that he avoided—Pitch never let him near it. He couldn’t explain why, but the thin scar no wider than a hair at his throat was one Pitch refused to let him touch. 

Pitch lounged for a moment, stretching with a yawn. Sandy nipped at his skin and he made a sound of mild surprise. “I’m barely awake, Little Man, calm down.”

Sandy smiled. He put his chin on his hands, resting on Pitch’s chest. Pitch had a pleasant look in the evening when he first woke up, when his hair was rumpled his eyes still soft. Sandy liked him best then.

Pitch twisted a finger in Sandy’s hair, in no hurry to get out of bed. Night would come soon enough, and both of them would have to leave for their other duties—but for now the sun was still setting, and he could enjoy himself a little longer. 

Pitch watched Sandy’s face a moment, and the content look on his face faded away. “I dreamed about them again, didn’t I?”

After a moment, Sandy nodded.

“I don’t know who they are.”

I know. Sandy laid his head on Pitch’s chest. He had tried to help, tried to make the dreams clearer… but there was a part of Pitch that didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to remember because he was afraid of what he would find. 

So Sandy waited and watched the foggy memory-dreams, and wished he understood. Pitch shifted again, tucking his head against Sandy’s belly. “I’m sorry, Little Man.”

Sandy stroked his hair, pressing a kiss just over Pitch’s ear. They had time. Someday, Pitch might allow himself to remember. He might allow himself to recall where all these scars had come from, and the names of the woman and girl. He might allow himself to remember that he had not always been Pitch Black, the Nightmare King.

Until then, Sandy would wait, and watch, and kiss. 


End file.
